The Seas Catch Fire
by Little Obsessions
Summary: "His entire body language changed in the instant the door fell open. Perhaps it would be imperceptible to anyone else but Magda suspected the only person who didn't realise it was her brother himself." Joseph falls sick, prompting his sister to visit the palace.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** So, this story was sitting around doing nothing and I rather liked it but it's not really driven by anything which constitutes plot. It's just a little reflection, I suppose, and a little character study and an exploration of Joseph's family because I am fascinated by that and have a whole canon in my head that I'd like to flesh out one day. That's for another time though, this was just for a bit of light-relief.

 **The story will be in four parts. Please leave a review if you'd like.**

 **Disclaimer:** None of these characters, recognisable from the Princess Diaries franchise, belong to me. They belong to Disney. The original characters are mine (no one will want them) and I make no monetary gain from writing.

* * *

"Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward."

-E.E. Cummings

"You look tired," Clarisse said after a while of silence, lifting her head from the papers in front of her, "In fact, exhausted, I might go as far as to say."

He rubbed his hand over his face which was sticky with sweat. He was feeling more than tired, in truth he felt thoroughly ill. His stomach was giddy with motion, his eyes were bleary and his skull was nipped to tension with an agonising headache.

"Just…" he smiled, "I can't seem to shake this."

She raised a brow, "I told you to take the day off."

He laughed, "I don't want to."

"Typical of your gender," she said, "Cannot lie down to anything."

He took a warming gulp of his coffee, "That isn't strictly true. It's more typical of my culture."

She gave him a crooked smile.

"Look at you," she motioned with her hand, "It is warm in here and you are shivering. And how, might I ask, is it typical of your culture?"

"I haven't been able to get rid of it since coming back from America," he sat back and wrapped his arms around himself, "To answer your question, dear, the Spanish invented the word 'macho'. It is something I think I am rather inclined towards."

She gave him an askance glance, "You love yourself Joseph, don't you?"

He grinned but it hurt his head to do so, "Yes."

"If you retired to your bed for a few days, I wouldn't disappear."

"Would you nurse me?"

She put her papers to the side, "Do I look like the nursing type?"

He found her very amusing, regardless of how awful he felt, "Oh…I can just imagine you in that outfit…"

She frowned, "Enough."

"Sorry darling," he winced as a pain shot over his back and up into his neck.

"Oh for Heaven's sake Joseph," she leaned forward, "Despite how gallant you think it is, watching you suffer is far from romantic, all joking aside. And…"

He tipped his head to the side, "And?"

"And I need you at your best," she finally muttered, obviously uncomfortable, "And not just because you are the Head of Security."

"Then why?"

"Because…" she lifted up her tea cup and he could see she was trying to hide her face.

"Go on Clarisse," he laughed, "It won't kill you if you say it."

"Because," she rolled her eyes, "Because I love you. Almost as much as you love you."

He nodded and stood, "Well dear, I would give in to you but tomorrow my sister is visiting this weekend and I'm meeting her in the city. I'll go to bed right now though," he bowed cheekily, "Asking your forgiveness for cutting our evening short, and I will see you in the morning."

Still in his bow, he leaned in to kiss her.

She turned her mouth away, "Cheek," she indicated with her finger, "Can't have both of us sick."

He laughed again, actually relieved to be retiring to bed, "Good night Your Majesty."

"Good night Joseph."

 **-0-**

Clarisse smiled as Mia sat down beside her, pulling a plate of fruit towards her as she did.

"Good morning grandma," she placed a pile of books down.

"Good morning," Clarisse motioned to the books, "Studying I see."

"Not long till junior end of year exams," Mia said gravely, "And I want to keep my grade average up."

Clarisse nodded, "I am incredibly impressed Amelia. Aside from the weekly meeting with Sebastian today, you are free to study all day."

The girl smiled warmly, "Thanks grandma," then she motioned to the empty seat, "Where's Joe?"

It was, to Clarisse's mind, a sensible question. He was never late, never lacked punctuality. He was the opposite of her entirely. He was usually first for breakfast, where he was on shift always, and she pretended always to invite him to eat. It had grown into a routine really, the three of them eating breakfast together when Mia was home at first. Then when Mia left, they both simply carried it on.

"A good question…"

At that the door to her chambers opened and the subject of their conversation came into view. To say he looked markedly worse than the night before would not have been an understatement. His head was prickled with visible, even from Clarisse's vantage point at the far end of her suite, beads of sweat. His shirt, obviously fresh, was clinging to his soaked chest and he was pulling at his tie with the irritation of someone struggling for breath.

Along with Mia, she was immediately on her feet.

"Joseph!"

He held up a hand, "I'm fine Clarisse."

She knew that was not true because, aside from the fact he was a sickly shade of grey, he rarely used her name in front of anyone, not even Amelia.

When he lurched forward her suspicions were definitely confirmed. Luckily he had the self-preservation to reach out to the side-table, the only thing saving him from the cold floor.

"Mia," she said quietly, "Send for Charlotte please."

Her granddaughter, though evidently panicked, went to the phone.

Clarisse strode forward and gripped his shoulders. Joseph was much heavier than her, a solid mass of admittedly attractive muscle, and she would never manage to hold him for any length of time to guide him to his room. His ascetic drive towards physical fitness was attractive when it did not hinder her as it did now and she cursed his determination to stay out the course, even when he was clearly very ill.

"Come on," she pulled at him, "Bed."

"I'm-"

"Don't even say it Joseph," she sniped impatiently, forcing him to walk towards her room.

Typically they found themselves in her room in very different circumstances and only rarely, because of propriety and fear and all of the things that kept their relationship in the shadows. Right now though she couldn't think on that.

"I can't..uh..sleep…here," he slurred, weakly pulling back.

"What else do you suggest?" She closed the door to her bedroom with a kick of her high-heeled foot, "I cannot carry you to your apartments and I am certainly not going to have you lying in the sitting room. You are ill. Do not make me angry as well as worried."

"I love when you get angry at me."

He smiled groggily and flopped on to the bed. He helped her set the covers aside with an assisting foot after she pulled off his shoes and let them fall with a soft thud to the floor.

"Clarisse…" he said lowly, "Clarisse I feel terrible."

She resisted tears and said briskly, "I know. Get some sleep. I will call the doctor."

As she turned to go the bedroom door opened and Amelia entered, followed by Shades and a stricken looking Charlotte. She sucked in a deep breath and attempted a smile that she knew was weak.

"It appears our Head of Security is rather…" she flourished a hand, "Out of action. Scott, you will need to take over. Charlotte, please send for the surgeon. Can you call from my sitting room please? Don't go to your office. The entire palace need not be involved."

Charlotte nodded and left again.

"Your Majesty, are you okay?"

She avoided looking at Amelia's worried face. The girl could not draw her eyes from Joseph's form. Instead she turned to the young man.

"I am, thank you Scott," she nodded, "You should go and await the surgeon."

After he left Clarisse watched as Mia inched towards the man on the bed and touched a pale hand to his glistening forehead.

"He's on fire," she murmured darkly, "Grandma-"

"He will be absolutely fine," she lied.

Despite all that logic was telling her – that it was just a bad infection or a flu or something – Clarisse was panicked beyond all reason and she did not need everyone around her to be reflecting that panic back on to her.

"Of course he – "

Charlotte re-entered, not even knocking, "The Royal Surgeon will be here in ten minutes."

Clarisse nodded and went towards the bed where she resisted the temptation to touch his burning face, "Thank you Charlotte."

For only ten minutes it seemed like an interminable amount of time in which Clarisse found herself mostly occupied with horrible thoughts. Shades eventually brought him in though, the young and relatively newly appointed Royal Surgeon. He had only come on board when Rupert had died and while he was competent enough, Clarisse had never quite warmed to him as she had his predecessor.

He bowed hastily, "Your Majesty. Are you quite well?"

"Yes," she motioned to the bed, "My Head of Security, you know Colonel Romerro, is quite _unwell_ though."

He looked momentarily startled then snapped his head towards Charlotte, "You said there was an emergency, Miss Kutaway?"

Charlotte nodded, nonplussed by his questioning. The surgeon turned back to Clarisse after a shake of the head.

"Forgive me Your Majesty but I am the _Royal_ Surgeon," he laughed bluntly, "Your staff are covered by their insurance, are they not? I treat the royals, not their staff."

If Clarisse had been near an object that was cheap enough to have been hurled at him, she would have aimed directly for his gut. From Amelia's audible gasp Clarisse's face was either evidently displaying her rage or she was appalled as her grandmother. There was every chance it was both.

Clarisse was frightened she would scream so instead she lowered her voice to the verge of a whisper, "Dear master surgeon, I strongly suggest you go about your task without another comment regarding the position or ancestry of your current patient. Otherwise you might find yourself on the end of a rather well executed campaign to smear your name and ensure your reputation goes before you in the worst way. Colonel Romerro here is very good at such a move but in his absence, I am sure I could manage."

He had paled almost as much as Joseph, "Of course Your Majesty."

He went about his business as the four other people in the room stood back and watched quietly. She imagined he was rather nervous now, as right he should be, because his audience clearly despised him already. What he had failed to realise, while scoffing at the prospect of treating a mere commoner, was that this particular commoner was the linchpin, at times, of the entire Renaldi reign. The other four people in the chamber knew it though and they would never let such snobbery slide.

The doctor turned after what Clarisse would judge as a thorough examination.

"It's a very bad viral infection," he said, "He'll need lots of fluid and to sleep it off. Trying to fight it was probably a bad idea. He should have rested. Someone will need to monitor his temperature every hour and if it gets any higher than now, you will need to call me again and we will have to get him to a hospital. He has a bad fever that must be monitored. I can write up some painkillers to help him but that is about it."

She nodded, "Are you certain that is all that it is?"

He nodded, "Yes, Your Majesty. If you do not call for me again, I will phone in tomorrow morning to see if he's better."

She watched him pack his things, "Thank you doctor."

He bowed stiffly, "You're welcome Your Majesty."

There was silence for a moment, then she turned to the others, whose eyes were all on Joseph.

"I will be remaining with Joseph. Charlotte, please phone Sebastian and give my apologies for this afternoon. I –"

"I'll do it grandma," Mia said eagerly, "I've done countless meetings like this with you and Sebastian. I can do it on my own."

She considered for a moment then nodded her agreement, "Charlotte you will be on hand?"

"Of course."

"Your Majesty, I can watch him," Scott said, "Or one of the men can. We'll get him down to his apartments and-"

"He goes nowhere," she said firmly, her jaw shaking against irrational tears, "And I will be looking after him."

"Grandma, I can-"

She spun on her heels to look at the three of them, "I am telling you, kindly, you must let me do this. He is my oldest friend. I am not asking you, I am telling you."

Their mouths closed against their protests and they nodded silently.

"Charlotte, please send for Olivia and Priscilla. Scott, I need you to take charge for the foreseeable future."

He nodded, "I was going to be in charge tomorrow anyway. Joseph was-"

She flung her head back as she recalled, "His sister."

"Oh yeah," Mia chimed in, "Magda. She is in Pyrus for a conference."

Clarisse nodded, "We will need to contact her."

Charlotte shrugged, "How do we do that Your Majesty?"

"His cell phone," Mia answered, as if the answer were obvious as to be boring.

"His cell phone is in his pocket, always," Shades motioned in Joseph's direction with an awkward smile.

There was a pause then Mia said;

"I'm not doing it."

And Scott and Charlotte merely bowed their heads.

Clarisse resisted the urge to glare at their stupidity and threw her hands out.

"Well I don't intend to have his sister waiting at a restaurant somewhere for her brother who isn't going to show," she pulled the sleeves of her blazer up and pushed the sheets back to his knees.

She fished in the pocket nearest her first, producing keys and a handful of coins. Humiliatingly she had to put one knee on the bed to balance herself and lean over him to reach the other pocket. Her bed had always been impractically high and she had to really stretch onto to the tip of her grounded foot. She managed it though, her fingers delving into the pocket and closing around the cell phone.

"Clarisse…" he groaned lowly, "Not now dar-"

She jumped back so hastily that she had to squeal anyway, such was her fright, but it also helped to drown out his rather lusty groan. She knew he was hallucinating and not truly aware of the others in the room but it was absolutely, categorically, not the time or place for it.

She straightened up and held the phone out to Mia, who she could see was resisting giggles as well as she managed to resist chocolate.

"Here, find his sister's contact details. I cannot for the life of me work these things."

She looked at Charlotte and Shades, neither of whom could bring themselves to look her in the eye. And she just knew that the boy was fighting a laugh that would surely permit her to rip his head off. She decided to save them from their humiliation.

"Charlotte, the maids please, and Sebastian. Scott, sort your team out."

Giving curt nods, they skulked out.

She turned to Mia, who held the phone in the palm of her hand.

It was only when it was ringing she realised she had no idea what to say. All she knew was it was rude not to contact her. Clearly Joseph was in no fit state to go to Pyrus, even the following day, to see his sister and his sister had travelled all the way from Geneva, albeit for a conference, but it was impolite not to let her know. There were, in short, a plethora of reasons to contact her.

She didn't have much more time to think over it as a polite voice answered, "Hello Joe."

She paused, "Actually, please forgive me, this is not your brother."

The other voice laughed but it was short, "No, unless he's become a very polite woman."

"I am…" she realised suddenly she had no idea how to introduce herself because people always introduced her, "I am…my name is Clarisse. I am…"

"And I am Magda," the lady said on the other end, "And you're not just Clarisse, right?"

It was amazing that her speech pattern was so similarly casual to her brother's.

"Indeed."

"Is everything alright, Your Majesty?" She heard the alarm in the other woman's voice.

"Well, nothing dreadful," she said this as much for her own comfort as his sister's, "Joseph has come down with a rather terrible virus and…," she dared to look at him, still in the bed as Mia held a washcloth to his head, "Well he won't be fit to meet you."

"Oh," she could hear the disappointment in Magda's voice, "Oh that's quite alright."

She didn't quite know what possessed her, "You are welcome to visit him here. I can't promise he will be riveting company."

Magda laughed, "No I wouldn't want to do that."

"I insist. If you wish to see him you should," she said genuinely.

There was a momentary pause, "Alright."

"Alright," she nodded, "I'll have the security clear you."

How stupid, she thought for a second, that she couldn't invite the man she loved's sister into her own home without checking with the security she was surrounded by.

"That seems like an awful lot-"

"Tush," she said gently, "It is not. At any rate, he will be pleased to just know you were here."

"Alright Your Majesty," she said on the other end, "I suppose I shall get to meet you tomorrow."

"Indeed, take care."

She set the phone aside and looked up. Amelia was gaping at her with a mix of admiration and incredulity.

"Did you just invite her here?"

"Yes," she answered, feeling a little dazed, "I suppose I did."

"You know he will flip."

Clarisse looked at him then to her granddaughter, "When he's conscious, you mean?"

"Fair point," Mia held up the cloth, "This is nearly dry."

She nodded and, taking the cloth from her granddaughter, crossed to the bathroom. When she was inside she twisted the cold faucet on hard and braced herself against the sink. She felt incredibly fragile right now, despite her own logic. The thought of him being ill or, dare she consider it, of losing him was a terrible reality that felt like a weight she'd never carried before.

He had been sick only twice in his entire time at the palace and even then it hadn't been real sickness. It had been a cold once and a knee operation the second time. This time he was really floored and for the first time, maybe because she had been avoiding it up until now, she had to acknowledge that he was mortal.

Because Clarisse had never seen him as a mortal, not really. He had always been so very there and so solid and constant.

It made things more focused somehow, throwing their hidden relationship into stark relief. She felt tears piercing her eyes, brought on by the unfairness of it all, and pulled in a deep breath to stem their flow.

She rung the cloth out and headed back in to the chamber.

Mia lifted her head, "He's been muttering away."

"Do you think it is growing worse?"

"No," her granddaughter shook her head, "He's just dreaming."

She handed her granddaughter the cloth just as Priscilla entered and gave a quick curtsey.

"What can I do Your Majesty?"

She could see Priscilla's eyes lingering on the Head of Security's face.

"He is fine Priscilla, just exhausted," she soothed, "I need you to fetch a few fresh wash cloths. And, if you could be a dear, fetch me some tea and something for lunch."

The maid turned to go.

"Mia, would you mind staying with him for just a moment longer until I change out of this incredibly uncomfortable suit?" she motioned to the admittedly beautiful but very restrictive Ferragamo two-piece.

Mia nodded, "Sure."

She slipped out again, this time into the quiet of the chamber, where Charlotte was working at her own desk.

"Charlotte, was Sebastian okay?"

Her secretary smiled, "He was, yes. He is going to be here in an hour and we'll meet in the drawing room."

Clarisse smiled, "Thank you Charlotte."

Her secretary placed her pen down, "Are you alright, Your Majesty?"

She closed her eyes and took in a breath, "I am. Thanks to you."

Charlotte dipped her head, "Not at all."

After changing into far more comfortable slacks and a white shirt she headed back in, feeling slightly calmer than she had been just twenty minutes before.

"Looks comfier," Mia climbed off the bed and went towards the dresser, where Priscilla had evidently left the fresh clothes, the doctor's prescription and a tray with tea and lunch.

"It is," she watched as Mia dipped a fresh cloth in the iced water bowl, which the maid had thoughtfully left behind, and then took it from her.

"Go and have a rest and freshen up before you meet Sebastian and please, let me know how it goes."

Mia dived in for a clumsy peck to her cheek before she went.

Then she was alone. Alone with the very frightening idea of being alone more permanently than she'd ever really thought she could be. She pushed it to the back of her mind, told herself he would be okay.

She stood in the silence for a moment, then she grabbed her book and climbed on to the other side of the bed.

"It's just you and me old man."

* * *

 **So, did you enjoy?**


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you for all your reviews on the previous chapter. Please keep on reading.

* * *

She changed the cloth periodically, when his temperature rendered it useless, and after quickly scoffing her lunch set about finishing her book. His temperature remained the same and did not climb, so she took comfort in that.

It was late afternoon when she set the book aside and reached out to stroke his forehead.

"I am worried," she admitted, though she knew he wouldn't hear her, "I don't like when you're not here for me to chastise."

There was silence and then, to her surprise, he spoke.

"You…woke me," he whispered weakly, "Can I have…some water…sweetheart?"

Even when sick, he was nothing if not dearly affectionate. She reached for the jug and poured a glass. He took slow sips as she supported his sweaty head and she was so surprised he let her do that she almost enjoyed it.

"You've been asleep for hours," she said softly, running her finger impulsively down his nose.

He smiled with his eyes still closed, "I…I love your bed."

"Even when you're sick you're irreverent," she touched his head, "And you're still very sick."

"I…feel better," he murmured, "You're here."

"I'm glad I can be of use," she bent to kiss his forehead.

"Always."

A while later Clarisse was awoken by the click of the door. She hadn't, of course, intended to fall asleep but she had and her neck was sore from the odd angle at which she'd been resting.

"Charlotte," she lifted herself up.

"Please, Your Majesty," the secretary motioned with a gentle hand.

"Oh Charlotte, I did not mean to fall asleep," she shook her head, "What time is it?"

"Seven in the evening," her secretary answered and then she looked suddenly nervous, "I came to ask you about your sleeping arrangements. I could have Mrs. Kowt make the blue room up or even the King's Suite."

Clarisse nodded and knew precisely what Charlotte was trying not to say.

She pointed towards the sitting room, "There are two perfectly wonderful settees in there that are rarely used and lots of blankets."

"But I can-"

She waved a dismissive hand, "Honestly Charlotte, it is fine."

Charlotte gave a polite nod and turned to go but at the door she stopped again.

"Charlotte, what is it?"

"I just – "

She gave her secretary a gentle smile, "You are worried about what the rest of the palace will have to say?"

Charlotte nodded chastely and said nothing.

"Oh Charlotte," she smiled, "It can't matter all that much."

"When he's not here," Charlotte pointed to Joseph's prone form seriously, "It's my job to protect you."

"And you do and this is my suite and he is my friend," she said kindly.

Charlotte smiled patiently, "But-"

"No Charlotte," she said mildly, "It will be fine."

But as she watched Charlotte go, her senses finally came back to her and she knew she was simply filling their mouths if she slept here. The reality was that she had intended to pull a blanket to the bed and lie beside him. It was not that she did not trust anyone else to tend to him and, as she was willing to acknowledge, there were far more capable people than her but she wanted to be the one to do it. She wanted to be the one to hold a cloth to him every moment until his fever broke. Because that was what he metaphorically did for her every day. And while it was a lovely and well-intended sentiment she knew it was an unachievable one too. She knew it was one that would fuel palace gossip quite like nothing else.

"Charlotte," she swung her legs round, "You are, of course, right."

She would be lying to say the look of relief on Charlotte's face was not irritating but she understood it acutely too.

"What about the King's suite?"

Charlotte's eyes flitted towards the door at the far wall of Clarisse's bedroom. It was a heavy oak portal which led to a small antechamber and then another door into the larger, and even more luxurious, King's apartments. It hadn't been uses since Rupert had died but it had been cleaned and updated regularly and dust sheets had been deployed to keep it fresh.

"A good idea Charlotte, thank you."

The girl smiled, "I'll let Mrs. Kowt know to prepare it for you."

Clarisse did not need to say anymore, "Thank you dear."

A few moments passed and she climbed from the bed to soak the cloth.

"Wise choice," he rasped suddenly, "I've…taught her well."

She laughed a little and, coming towards him, pressed the cloth to his burning forehead.

"Such self-confidence," she dabbed the material onto his brow, "Even when you're sick as a dog."

He touched loving but firm fingers to her wrist to stop her movements, "She was right, you know."

"I know."

"But…I know what you wanted and I love you for it."

"I love you too," she continued to dab his head, "Is that good?"

"Mmmm," he nodded, "Oh…completely. I can feel my whole body again."

He tugged at his collar weakly, "Do you think you could take my tie off?"

She did as she was bid with deft fingers and set it on the side table.

"Better," he managed a delicate smile, "It's a sad day that I only get to be in Her Majesty's bed when I happen to pass out in its vicinity."

She nodded her agreement and climbed up beside him, "Indeed it is."

He groaned a little and winced as the bed shifted beside him.

"Oh sorry," she said sweetly, edging away.

"My head…"he grimaced, "It's terrible."

"Can I do anything?"

There was a moment of silence and he let his head loll against the pillow, "No. Thank you."

She nodded, "You should slee-"

"Clarisse," he sounded distressed, "Clarisse I'm supposed to see my little sister tomorrow."

She nodded in agreement, "Don't worry. I have fixed it."

He smiled but she could tell it involved a lot of effort, "Clarisse, you're wonderful. Was she disappointed?"

"Oh," she said casually, "I invited her here."

His face darkened for a moment but he said nothing.

"Are you alright?"

"Mmm," he said, "Yes."

"No you're not," she said quietly, "It's because I invited her here."

He looked defensive and irritated for a moment but then his face fell, "A bit, yes."

"Oh."

He held her hand suddenly, "Don't do that."

"What?" She asked airily.

"That," he squeezed her hand but it was weak, "That hurt, dismissive tone."

"Well don't be hurtful and dismissive then," she said, a little more sharply than she intended.

"It's just…"

She awaited his answer the way she always awaited answers from people who had irritated her. Her hand pulled from his and folded in her lap, her eye brow raised, her eyes glistening with burgeoning anger.

"I just…" he groped for the words, "I-"

"Don't you want her to meet me?"

He sighed, "I knew you'd take it like this."

She twisted her head, "How precisely am I meant to take it?"

He shook his own and winced as he did so. If she hadn't been so angry she would have been far more pitying.

"Clarisse, come on. You know it's not about that."

She felt chastened for a moment, "I suppose not."

"I don't want…" he didn't want to have this conversation right now, she could see, "I…she suspects about us. It's hard. I live two separate lives. I don't want them to collide when we're not ready, that's all."

She nodded silently, "I understand. I can-"

"It's done now," he rasped, "Don't worry about it."

"I will though."

"Well don't. It will be fine," he reached for the glass on the bedside table and took a drink unsteadily.

"I'll do it," she reached out but he gently brushed her hand away.

"I'm alright," he promised, "Just tired."

"Sleep then."

He looked up at her, "Sleep here with me."

"You just told me not to," she laughed, a little exasperated.

"Yes, I suppose I should have clarified that," he threw her that crooked smile he knew she couldn't resist, "I meant pretend to sleep next door. Isn't that what that," he motioned to the heavy oak door at the far end of her bedroom, "Is for?"

She looked at it," I suppose."

"Go ruffle the sheets, then come back here."

She smiled at him, "Are you giving me orders?"

"Isn't it your job to look after me?"

"It is, yes."

"And what would make me infinitely better is to hold you through the night," he said genuinely, without even a hint of jocularity.

She kissed his forehead quickly, "Fine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Thank you so so much for the positive reactions to this story. It's longer than I first envisioned, and has at least 2 more chapters, but it's been fun. Please enjoy.

* * *

He awoke in the sort of rare bliss that only ever occurred when he found her in his arms. Her sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted and his had been too. She was still where she had fallen asleep hours ago, her back to his chest and her body moulded into his. It was so uncommon that he bent to bury his nose in her hair, to enjoy the rarity of her sleep as fully as he enjoyed her waking.

"Good morning," she muttered sleepily, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said seriously, "Much better."

"You're like a radiator," she whispered, "I tried to escape your grip at some point during the night but you wouldn't let me go."

"Story of our life," he squeezed her hip, "What's the time? I should be on shift. I-"

"You are kidding, right?"

She turned in his arms to look at him.

"You have got to be joking," she said again with the incredulity she reserved for his stupidest comments.

"No," he said seriously, "I'm not."

"Need I remind you, you collapsed? Heavens above Joseph," she squeezed his arm painfully and it was such a shock that he nearly flinched, "You aren't fit."

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm being bloody realistic," she said sharply, "And you leave this bed to do anything but shower and let them change the sheets and I swear I'll fire you."

"Did you just threaten me Clarisse?"

He sat up, propping himself against the rich antique headboard.

"Yes," she pulled herself up too, "And I meant it."

"I'm fine," he swore but, having sat up, he wasn't so sure of that.

His entire body felt weighted, bones made of granite, and his head felt woozy. It was a hangover from the fever, he knew, but getting out of bed so soon would be impossible if he really wanted to be the best he could be.

"You're grey."

"And…" he conceded resentfully, "You're right. Not better enough yet."

"You are good," she pushed the sheets away and climbed out, "But you're not that good. I better go and lie in that room next door and pretend I slept there all night. Move and I swear Joseph…"

He held up a hand, "Alright, alright, I promise."

He lay staring up at the canopy of her bed for only half an hour before she returned to the bedroom, the maids trailing behind her, dressed and ready to start her day. She'd showered and donned a trouser suit and all evidence of their peaceful sleep seemed to have disappeared.

"Good morning," he pulled himself up again, aware he had a role to play, "Your Majesty. Forgive that I cannot bow."

She gave him a small smile, "Good morning Colonel. The maids have agreed to fetch you some pyjamas and your toilet bag. Then they'll sort your breakfast and change the sheets while you shower, and then you should remain all day. Here. And do not move."

"Your Majesty-"

"No protests," she motioned to the girls on either side, "Both ladies agree that your value to this palace outweighs the inconvenience to them."

Both girls nodded sincerely and gave a little curtsey.

"I-"

Her stern gaze was enough to commit any protest to extinction. He merely nodded and watched as the maids went, closing the door behind them.

"Can I get a T.V.?"

She shook her head and laughed as she perched on the edge of the bed, "Promise me you'll rest."

"A book then?"

"A book is fair enough."

"Power dressing?"

He slid his hand onto her trouser-clad thigh.

"It's a metaphor."

"Parliament?"

"Yes," she scowled.

"And my sister?"

He asked it tentatively but she seemed not to take on his sheepish tone.

"She's coming at eleven. Mia will meet her, since I can't. She'll bring her here."

He couldn't help but be panicked.

"Here? As in to your rooms?"

"No, as in to another dimension," she touched his cheek, "Of course here."

"Clarisse…"

"Joseph?"

"Really?"

She stood up and checked her watch, "Yes, really. Either that or you walk back to your suite and greet her there. In which case you greet her as a jobless man. Your choice."

She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He shrunk away.

"I haven't brushed my teeth in twenty four hours."

"Joseph," she turned to go, "I love you."

"I love you too. Enjoy Parliament."

He watched her go, admiring was probably more apt a description to describe his observation, then sunk back down into the sheets.

When the maids arrived they were despondent and confused. He had to explain he didn't own pyjamas, rather embarrassingly, and praised their decision to resort to a pair of grey sweats and a black t-shirt.

Then weak, but refusing their help, he inched towards the palatial bathroom which was intimately Clarisse. It smelled like cherry blossom and heat and the privacy she so obviously sought. He rarely, if ever, entered this room but he climbed into the shower and leaned against the tiles and let the powerful water massage his tired muscles. He stood before the steamed mirror and shaved and took away that pallid look that had come about his cheekbones.

The maids were turning down the bed and laying out his breakfast when he emerged.

He was suddenly embarrassed by their servitude and his working class sensibilities, no matter how hypocritical they were, made him acutely aware of how pampered she was. He smiled at them awkwardly and sat down at the table.

It wasn't his ordinarily breakfast of scrambled egg and coffee.

He looked up at Olivia.

"Pancakes," she explained, "The crown princess…"

He smiled, "Right."

"Her Majesty said I was to give you this," she handed him a book, "And that I've to lock the door so you can't escape."

"There's no need for that," he said softly, "I swear."

"She doesn't seem to think so," Olivia grinned, "And her word is rule."

"If I hadn't know that before, I know it now."

The maid smiled again and left him to his breakfast.

Being trapped in Clarisse's world, on his own, turned out to be rather boring. So he slept again and awoke at ten a.m. and read the book and wondered what she was doing. He thought about using the phone at the bedside to call Shades and fabricate some lie to insist he needed to be updated but he knew Clarisse would find out. Then he rolled over and pulled her pillow to himself and fell into another bored sleep.

It was only when he heard Mia chatting animatedly in the outer chamber that he awoke.

He only had time to prop himself up and look presentable before Mia came into the room, followed by his sister.

 **-0-**

Magda Romerro was always in Genovia. She was there for business or conferences or the release of research papers but she was almost never there to visit her brother. They were close, they spoke on the phone, but that was as far as she got when it came to entering Joseph's world. She needn't wonder why for the moment she mentioned his life and work at the palace he shut down like a Swiss knife, tight and packed against hundreds of other defences.

And her suspicions, and those of the media and the Genovian population, were only fuelled by that sharp silence.

She hadn't intended to come straight from the airport but her flight was delayed and she hadn't time to check into her hotel so she, and her overnight bag, hailed a taxi to the palace. She didn't blame the driver for looking at her like she might have lost it. She simply nodded and repeated her request.

She was met at the huge, imposing gates by two military guards who smiled politely and then grinned when she said her name.

"Forgive me," one said, "But we never thought we'd see the day when Joe had any of his family at the palace."

He pressed his fingers against a key pad and led her through a smaller gate in the huge wall.

"Actually it wasn't my brother who invited me," she said conversationally, as she followed him.

"Oh," he smiled politely, "Right."

And led her up huge steps.

At the doors she was subjected to a body scan, like the one she'd just had at the airport, then a thorough search of her bag by a man who failed to remove his sunglasses. Maybe this was the famed Shades of many a stupid story. She didn't ask.

"Dr. Romerro," the man finally said as he motioned towards a gilded seat in the opulent and unwelcoming foyer, "Take a seat and the princess will meet you directly."

She nearly blanched, "The princess?"

"Her Majesty the queen," he said gravely, "Sends her apologies she herself could not greet you. In her absence she hopes you will find the princess a suitable alternative."

She nodded, rather stunned, "I'm just here to see my brother."

The man nodded, "I know."

She was barely seated when she heard the scuff of shoes on marble and a pretty young woman appeared. She knew immediately this was the Crown Princess Amelia, whom Joseph referred to as Mia, on the rare occasion when he referred to her at all. She smiled broadly and waved a very American hand when Magda stood and curtsied. She was a project leader at the W.H.O and she knew, thankfully, how to greet royalty. It didn't mean she liked them though. Necessary evil to her mind and in countries like Genovia, not necessary at all but rich and corrupt.

"God!" The girl laughed, "Don't."

And then of all the bizarre things in the world, she pulled Magda into a hug.

"Joe speaks about you all the time," the girl cried, "It's so awesome to meet you, finally, even under these circumstances."

She was slightly wounded that her brother spoke of her openly when he never deemed it sensible to share an iota of his own life with her.

"Does he?"

"Mhmmm," the girl nodded, "He's so proud of you. I'm Amelia by the way but everyone calls me Mia."

"Or princess?"

The girl laughed, "I suppose. But not you. You're practically family after all."

"Am I?"

"Duh," the girl placed a soft hand on her arm, "Come on, I know Joe will be dying to see you."

She followed the young woman, dumbstruck as she was, through a huge ballroom and up onto grand marble stairs. It took them almost five minutes to reach a wide corridor lined with paintings and with guards posted at either end.

"Just down here," Mia smiled, pointing to double doors at the end of the corridor.

"Down here, my brother's apartments?"

Mia stalled, "No actually. My grandma's."

Magda tried to keep the confusion, and alarm, from her face. Her attempt wasn't fruitful though and the princess stalled for a moment.

"He passed out in grandma's rooms, you see," she explained, "And grandma refused to have him moved."

"Right," she said, as if that was explanation enough.

Whatever world the queen occupied, it wasn't one that Magda had ever experiences, despite her intelligence and world-weary travel history. The rooms were huge and airy and mint and cream and tastefully decorated with antique furniture. Or the central room was anyway.

The princess guided her to double doors at the end of the sitting room and rapped impatient knuckles on the heavy wood.

"Joe, it's us."

"I'm…okay, come in."

She pushed the door open to reveal a huge room with a four poster in the centre. The sashes of the windows were flung open and the curtains danced in and out, revealing a large balcony, dripping with roses, in turns.

"Joe," she smiled at the sight of her brother propped up against the pillows, "You look awful."

"Thanks M," he smiled, though it was tight.

"Mia, how are you today?"

The princess climbed onto the other side of the bed and crossed her legs.

"Your grandmother will kill you for having your baseball boots on her sheets."

The princess raised cheeky eyebrows at Magda and then answered him, "What she doesn't know won't kill her."

"Bad idea," he pushed her feet weakly away but as soon as he removed his hand she put them back in place.

"Come and hug me," he opened his arms to Magda, "I would come to you but if I move I'll be pensioned off."

She did as she was asked, feeling little for just a moment in his arms again, then setting herself on the chair beside the huge bed and organising her bag and handbag beside it.

"What he means," Mia gave his knee a gentle little punch, "Is that my grandma doesn't want him to move before he's better."

"A reasonable enough request," Magda agreed then watched as the princess kissed her brother's cheek, then bounced from the bed.

"Studying to do," she said by way of explanation and perhaps Magda needed to give her more credit for her reading of the situation than it first appeared.

"She's certainly full of life," Magda said dryly when she heard the girl vacate the apartment entirely.

He smiled, "She is."

There was an awkward silence then.

"Sorry I couldn't come to you."

"Trust me," she laughed, "This has been infinitely more…interesting."

He groaned, "I knew you'd think so."

"I didn't press the matter."

"Oh I know."

He was staring at his hands on top of the rich cotton sheets. The question was irresistible.

"Queen's bed?"

"Don't," he murmured.

"Just good friends?"

He was getting angry and, as she should well know, goading her brother was never clever but she couldn't resist.

"Oh come on," she laughed and stood and went to the side-board she'd spied, littered with photos, when she first entered.

"Nothing to tell," he grunted, "Don't touch those."

She withdrew her hands, "Just looking. She's beautiful. In that sort of posh way."

He said nothing and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, and here's one with you. Dancing?"

She had to acknowledge it was a beautiful photo. He held her closer to him in than he should have, and she was tipping her head back and laughing at something he had said.

"Enough Magda," he warned.

"Just tell me when you're going to admit it."

"Nothing to admit," he tipped his head against the headboard, "You're exhausting me."

She came towards him and kissed his forehead, "Sorry Joey. In any case, you've got it made. This bed looks pretty comfy."

"It is," he said pointedly, "First time I've been in it."

She laughed and sat down again, "How are you feeling?"

"Better for seeing you," he smiled, "How's work?"

"Exhausting but worth it."

"Good," he grinned, "I am pleased to see you're as busy as always, at any rate."

"Do I get to meet her?"

She could tell he was feigning ignorance, "Meet who?"

"The queen," she laughed.

"I doubt it. Busy woman, much like yourself."

She frowned, "I have a real job."

He laughed darkly, "Calm down my little republican, otherwise you might be the reason I get fired. And trust me, it's a real job."

She was about to answer when the door of the suite clicked open and a maid entered, carrying a tray laden with a silver tureen and fresh bread and a jug of freezing water.

"Her Majesty asked me to bring lunch sir," the girl barely acknowledged Magda's presence, "For you both."

"Thanks Olivia," he answered quietly, and Magda could tell he was uncomfortable, "Just sit it on the table please."

The girl did as she was asked, setting it on the small breakfast table beside the balcony, and left after she set the tray down.

He pre-empted her criticism with a morose face.

"'Sir'? Wonders will never cease. I had failed to realise you were so important," she stood up and lifted up the heavy lid of the tureen.

The smell of delightful soup wafted towards them.

"I'm more important than I let on," he corrected, swinging out of bed and onto unsteady legs.

"Is that so?"

She ladled two bowlfuls for them each.

"Better than the finest hotels in Paris," she observed, after her first mouthful.

"I don't know…" he shrugged, "I'm used to it."

"'Course you are."

She dunked a piece of bread in, "Because you are, defacto, the man of the house."

He frowned and shook his head, "Will you ever let it go?"

She laughed lightly, "Uh no, not until I know all the details."

He let his spoon clink carelessly against the fine china, "Well we're going to be arguing for a long time."

She smiled then, and was about to regale him with the latest woes from their older sister Rita, when the door to the bedroom clicked open again. It was not hard to know, this time, who it was and Magda had no need to turn around.

His entire body language changed in the instant the door fell open. Perhaps it would be imperceptible to anyone else but Magda suspected the only person who didn't realise it was her brother himself. He smiled and made to stand.

"Don't Joseph," a lilting voice, musical and well-bred, said.

Her brother remained where he was at her words.

Magda turned simultaneously as she stood.

She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but the world's cameras failed to capture the warmth, too, which seemed to come from her. Then again, it could simply be the case that they were in her territory, in her world.

The other woman smiled and nodded as Magda dipped into a curtsey.

"You musn't…" she came towards them, "Please, you shouldn't do that."

"It's a pleasure, Your Majesty, to meet you."

The queen smiled, "I feel entirely the same. Joseph speaks of you so fondly, it's high time we met."

Magda smiled, "My sentiments exactly."

"I am simply stopping in," she pulled either ends of her suit jacket together in a curious little gesture, "To let Joseph know that Shades has all in hand," she turned her attention to Magda's brother, who'd been quietly listening and watching until that point, "And to apologise that I couldn't spend more time. I have a hectic day today."

"That's quite alright," Joseph smiled and his voice had taken on a different quality altogether, something Magda had never heard before, "Don't worry."

"I was about to leave anyway," Magda smiled, addressing the queen.

"Oh were you?"

"Yes," she motioned to her bag, "I still have the hotel to check in to. I originally planned to only fly in for the day, for the conference tomorrow, but my brother insisted I make time for him."

The queen laughed and Magda noticed that her brother smiled very gently then, at the sound.

"Ah, and then he had the nerve to fall ill," the older woman looked down at the topic of conversation, who was quietly shaking his head, "How rude Joseph."

"I know, right?" He laughed, "I seem to be a source of great irritation to all the ladies in my life just now, Your Majesty."

A sculpted eye-brow rose, "Oh Joseph, you sound very self-pitying," she turned to Magda, "I insist you stay here. Despite the wonders of the Grand Hotel, I'm sure the palace can accommodate a representative of the W.H.O much better and a sibling of an employee even more. Stay, for dinner, keep your brother company here."

Magda was taken aback by the generosity, the free and easy suggestion that she knew would horrify Joseph. She wondered if the woman knew, or if she simply did it out of kindness.

"I really wouldn't want to-"

To her infinite surprise, it was her brother who spoke, "It's Her Majesty who's asking you to stay. It would be impolite to refuse. And anyway, I could be doing with the company. I'm usually occupied all day."

At this he threw a grin in the queen's direction, one Magda could only have missed had she been blind.

"Honestly, it's-"

"Setttled, apparently," the queen smiled, "Bare in mind, Magda, that your brother exercises more clout in this palace than I do. His word, as they say, is rule."

"Not in the last two days," he muttered under his breath.

The other woman smiled crookedly but ignored him, "You must call me Clarisse, please. I insist."

Magda felt rather dumfounded, "Al-alright. Clarisse."

It seemed to suit her far better than 'Her Majesty'.

Clarisse touched a fleeting hand to her brother's black-clad shoulder but, as quickly as she did it, she withdrew, "Rest. I will see you at dinner."

He smiled but he did not look at her, "Yes."

Then she was gone, expensive heels clicking across the antique wood.

He dipped his head and began furiously spooning soup into his mouth. There was a blush colouring his cheeks, making his face glow.

"I-"

"Don't," soup dribbled out of his mouth.

"I was simply going to say," she said slowly, "That I was very impressed with how lovely she was."

He looked up but it wasn't relief on his face as she'd expected to see, it was incredulity, "Of course she's lovely."

Magda sighed, "Can I win with you Joseph? You shut all of us, every one of us, out at every turn."

He let his spoon rattle into his nearly empty bowl. He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he took them away, as she waited expectantly, he looked to be in pain.

"Because it's easier," he said quietly, "Trust me."

"Is it that bad?"

"It's not anything," he shook his head, "It's complicated. I don't want to…Clarisse's reputation…"

He shook his head again and resorted to taking a huge gulp of his water. It was the first time Magda had heard him use the queen's name in all the years he'd worked there. There was something intimate about it.

"Are you in love with her?"

Magda tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the curiosity from her voice.

He examined the filigree on his spoon then shrugged, "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Is she in love with you?"

"What does it matter?" He whispered, but it was fierce, "There's nothing we can…"

"Right," Magda felt the urgency of his pain and knew she had to back down, "I'm sorry I pushed."

He nodded, "I have to keep it separate. You see why, now?"

She nodded.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you can.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** Thanks for enjoying this plotless character study. One more chapter to go and it's done. I really enjoyed this one in particular.

* * *

Joseph groaned as he pulled on the dress trousers he'd fought with Olivia to deliver to the Queen's rooms. He refused, despite the glares levelled at him, to eat in trackpants with his sister there. He would have sat about in his boxers with Clarisse – if she'd let him – but certainly not with Mia or Magda there. Wincing from the tired and strained muscles in his back, he pulled on a shirt and tucked it in.

He emerged into her chamber then, as she was stepping into a casual dress. He admired her behind for a moment, the bare expanse of skin between panties and stocking, before she wiggled the dress up and over her hips.

"Being forced to stay in your room has its benefits," he smiled, leaned against the post of the bed, "I have to admit."

She looked over her shoulder, "Of course you do. I forgot I absolutely hate wearing trousers. How Mia stands jeans, I'll never know."

"Proper lady, though, are you not?"

She laughed, "I suppose so."

"You look lovely," he smiled, "As always."

"And you look better," she walked backwards, "Having you here has its advantages too. Zip me up?"

He did as he was asked and kissed the nape of her neck softly, unable to resist the temptation.

He breathed in the scent of her hair.

"It's been so long," she muttered, to his surprise.

"I'm sick," he ran his hand down her arm to intertwine with her own fingers.

"It was long before that," she shook her head and fell against him.

"It won't be long…"

He trailed off because he didn't really know what he was talking about. 'Long' until what?

She nodded, wordless herself.

"My sister thinks you're lovely," he said conversationally, his hands moving to lock around her soft but narrow waist.

"She's right," she whispered, her mouth trailing a kiss along his jaw as she turned her head, "Maybe I could organise a few days away."

"You're preoccupied with thoughts of us?"

She nodded, her hands folding over his, "Your being ill-"

"Don't be morbid," he interrupted gently, "I'm fine."

"It's not that," she shook her head but when he chuckled sceptically she pinched the skin on the back of his hand, "Well, it's not _just_ that. It's that I want this…I want this more."

He kissed the side of her neck again, "Me too."

"And the secrecy frustrates me," she whispered, "The secrecy I insist on."

He wanted to comfort her, even though he agreed, "Necessary secrecy."

She nodded and stepped away, "It's not long until…"

He couldn't finish the sentence for her.

 **-0-**

She'd ordered dinner in the sitting room of her chambers, less formal than the dining room but more formal than the small dining area in her room. Stepping out, the table had been set by the footmen and the butler, standing by. Adolfo nodded a little bow and came towards her.

"Your Majesty," the butler asked, "A drink before dinner?"

She shook her head, "Water, please."

Just behind her Joseph emerged, with more colour in his face than he had in recent weeks. His steps were stronger. It was disappointing, she realised, to know he'd be fit and able to return to his own rooms tonight.

"And you, sir?"

"Water too."

The footmen heard Mia chatting animatedly before they had to open, so when she arrived with Magda in tow, it was hard not to scold their entertained smiles. All of the staff loved her granddaughter but they loved her antics more.

"Grandma! I went by the Japanese room on my way and picked up Magda."

"Thank you darling," she turned to Magda, who had lowered into another perfect curtsey, "I hope your rooms are to your liking. I always liked the Japanese room."

"It's lovely," Magda smiled, "Huge though. My entire apartment in Geneva would fit quite comfortably in it."

Clarisse nodded, "It is freezing in the winter. And I light the fires more than I should."

"Bad for the environment," Mia chirped in, earning a withering look from Clarisse.

"Well it is," Mia said, sidling towards Joseph on the couch, "How's Joe?"

"Better," he pulled her towards him, an arm around her shoulders, "How's Miss Mia?"

"All studied out. Spoke to Lily on the phone earlier, she's asking after y'all."

Clarisse cringed at the Americanism, "All of us? How nice."

Both Joseph and Amelia smirked at her ill-hidden correction.

"Please," she motioned to the seats, "Take a seat. Dinner will arrive shortly."

 **-0-**

Magda was as shocked to admit she was feeling very at ease as she was embarrassed to acknowledge it. The dinner was delicious, the conversation entertaining, the princess charming, the queen quietly warm and her brother completely at ease.

She couldn't remember seeing him like this. She was so much younger and so the recollection of him being this happy was cloudy and yellowed with age. He hadn't been this easy, this at home, for a very long time.

If it hadn't been for the fact she couldn't forget she was sitting with one of the most powerful women in the world and her successor, she could have forgiven herself for thinking they were a perfectly normal, if somewhat posh, family. Her brother, somehow, an integral part of it.

"Your Majesty," her brother argued, stifling a laugh, "I told you not to leave the consulate in that death trap."

The woman in question swirled the wine around her glass and raised an eye brow, "Amelia, defend your grandmother please."

"Uh no," the girl took a slug of coke, "I'll defend my 'stang first, thanks. It is not a death trap."

"Well, as you please."

"So anyway," he turned to his sister, "Her Highness and Her Majesty took quite readily to the streets of San Fran without telling me where they were going. I had the entire team on high alert and was about to enlist the CIA when they were escorted back by the police. The actual police."

"They were very lovely," Clarisse said haughtily, "Were they not Amelia?"

"Oh they were," the girl laughed, "But Joe really flipped at us, do you remember?" Amelia turned to Magda, "It was the first time I saw Joe give grandma a proper telling off. It was funny."

"For you, perhaps," the queen placed her desert fork down, "And it's fair to say it was one of the worst of my many rows. When I was much younger, when the boys were only children, I used to try to escape him all the time."

Joseph laughed, "Still trying."

The queen smiled, "Not as much."

Mia dipped her head, but in the shadow Magda could see a small smile on her face.

"Dinner was lovely," Magda pushed her plate away and took up her wine glass, "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Not at all," the queen smiled, "Apparently it is a familial thing, being defiant?"

Magda blushed and felt confused when Joe interrupted, "Clarisse is referring to the fact she asked you to call her Clarisse, and you are not doing so. Am I correct?"

Clarisse nodded, "Must be a genetic thing."

"Or a respect thing," he countered, touching her hand where it rested on the table.

She nodded, "I suppose," then she turned to her granddaughter, "I suppose you'll want to be-"

"Uhu!" The girl pushed the chair back, so it teetered and would have fallen to the ground if her hand hadn't darted out to save it, "Studying beckons."

There was silence as they watched her go.

"Or Mr. Moscovitz," Clarisse muttered under her breath, "Her 'friend'. They…oh what's it called Joseph? That thing she's tried to do with us before."

"Skype," he said indulgently.

Magda swallowed a laugh, "Oh, I see."

"I'm a luddite," Clarisse continued, "It took all of Joseph's willpower to convince me to get a cell phone."

"How's that working out for you?"

Clarisse grinned, "I don't know. I broke it."

Magda looked at her brother, who was shaking his head. His arm was resting over the back of the queen's chair, not touching her, but with a possessiveness not missed on Magda.

He was feigning disappointment, "And then told me you didn't want it. It's still in my desk drawer."

"Where it belongs," she turned delicately to look him straight in the eye, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would," he smiled, "With anything you say."

"Good," her hand moved out to brush his cheek, but then the staff came back in and she withdrew her hand very quickly.

Magda diverted her eyes, feeling almost as if she was forgotten. As the staff cleared the table she stood.

"I'll walk you to your rooms," her brother addressed her, pulling out the queen's chair as she stood, "We've taken a liberty, already, with the hospitality on offer. Thank you, Your Majesty."

She gave a gentle little nod, "It's been such a pleasure, Magda. I'm afraid I'll already be busy at work before you leave in the morning so this is good bye."

Magda dropped a polite curtsey, "I am truly grateful for your kindness…your company."

The queen's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, "I am not as bad as they'd have you believe, am I?"

At this she saw her brother's hand come to rest on the bottom of the other woman's back.

Magda smiled, "No, not at all."

Clarisse gave a light, fleeting little laugh, "It's a shame they get such a say after all."

"I'll be sure to correct them next time," Magda vowed, "I promise."

"Thank you," she smiled.

"Good night," Joseph walked around from behind her and bowed to kiss her hand, "I'll see you in the morning."

"No," she disagreed instantly, "Take tomorrow off."

He simply tipped his head to the side, "Can we argue about it in the morning?"

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, "I look forward to it."

"Let's do it over breakfast," he dipped his head, "Good night ma'am."

"Good night Colonel."

The marble halls were quiet in the darkness of night and their footsteps were the only thing shattering the silence.

"Thanks for-"

"You don't have to," she touched her brother's forearm, "I get it."

"Promise?"

"I promise," she smiled, "I do."

"I can't risk her," he whispered, "You understand? Neither of us would survive it."

"I've never seen you so happy as when you're with her."

He nodded, "She makes me very happy."

"But?"

"But we can't…" he shook his head, "We can't risk it."

"I can't pretend to understand that," she observed without emotion, "You both seem to need the other, why is that wrong?"

He shrugged, "She's married to a country. Who am I to compete with that?"

She heard the pain in his words, the unspoken misery behind the attempt to be flippant.

"Just a guy," she agreed.

"I'm having an affair with a woman who's divided between a small nation," he stopped at her door, "I'm lucky she has the energy for me at all."

"When does she step down?"

"Two years, four months, thirteen d-"

"Not that you're counting?"

He smiled darkly, "I'll tell our family then."

"I think you will need to," she touched his shoulder.

He nodded, "Thanks for not being angry at me."

"It's not me you have to worry about but Rita…" she pulled a face, "She might never forgive you."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," he rubbed his side and winced.

"Still sore?"

"Nothing a good sleep won't cure."

"On your own?"

"Mhmm," he nodded, "Back to the bowels of the palace."

"It won't be long until-"

"Good night darling sister," he interrupted her, "Let's not talk about things we have no grasp of."

She watched him go and then slipped in the door.

* * *

 **So what did you think? Did you enjoy it?**


	5. Epilogue

Author's note: Thank you for reviewing this story. I am terrible at counting and so there are 5 chapters. Anyway, I'm glad you have enjoyed it and please review my cheesy little epilogue.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

Magda didn't ordinarily spend a Saturday in the office, working from the somewhat more distinguishable comforts of home when she had to, but this weekend was an exception. They were launching a 2-billion dollar project to combat the rise in maternal death in the East and Africa, and she had to finalise the materials before the launch on Monday. She'd been brazen enough to ask the project managers to come in, so as a consolation she brought coffee and pastries and laid them out on the conference room table. it also helped that the project managers were her friends.

First to enter was her closest friend, Inga, whom she had known since she took up her role in the organisation.

"Morning," she watched her friend remove her coat.

"Did you ask Adrian to come in?"

"Uhu," she laid out the plans in a line across the large conference table.

"I'm surprised he agreed," Inga started laying them out too, "I mean, with the wedding and all that."

Magda paused for a moment, then recalled, "Oh I forgot about that. God, he does really love them, doesn't he?"

"He's a Genovian," Inga answered, as if that were explanation enough, "And a huge royalist."

"Ugh," Magda took an aggressive bite out of one of the pastries.

"Have you ever told him about your brother?"

Magda groaned, "No way. We'd never get any work done. I mean really. Can you imagine; 'My brother's the Royal Head of Security-' 'Really? What colour of panties does the princess wear?' No thanks. It's unhealthy."

Inga laughed.

"What's so funny at this time in the morning?"

Adrian had appeared at the conference room door, looking disgruntled.

"Your love of Genovia. Actually, your love of the royal family in particular," she answered.

He removed his jacket to reveal a green t-shirt with bold blue writing, which read 'Made in Genovia' across the chest. Magda cringed.

"For a doctor you're pretty stupid," Inga laughed.

"It's the wedding of the 21st century," he stalked towards the T.V., "And if I have to be here, then we're watching it."

"Please can we not," Magda thrust a note pad into his hand, "Please."

"No," the T.V, used to far more serious fayre, erupted with images of the lined streets of Pyrus. "I was going home this weekend," he said, half-joking as he pointed to a gap in the crowd on the screen, "See, they saved me a space."

They worked quietly, reviewing their own areas, as the preamble to the wedding played out in the background.

"Oh there she is," he said suddenly, forcing both women in the room to turn.

It was not the bride but the queen, pretty but not scene-stealing in a silk olive green coat and dress. As always, when Magda glimpsed Queen Clarisse on television, she sought out her brother's face not far away. He wasn't there though and instead the man with the glasses was driving her limo. She shrugged it off. She'd lost interest really, now she'd met her and known her for the normal woman she was.

"Isn't she so gorgeous?"

"You know, no one would know you were crazy until you started talking about her like she's your beloved old aunty when you literally don't know her," Inga laughed.

"She is," he muttered defensively, dropping all pretence of work by letting the pen clatter on to the table, "That's unusual."

He said this so one of them would ask, "What is?"

Magda shot Inga a desperate look, to which her friend gave an indulgent grin.

"No Colonel Romerro."

Magda's head snapped up but she realised quickly and tried to feign mild curiosity, "Who?"

"Bald guy, goatee, handsome," he motioned to his chin, "Always wears black. He's the Queen's Head of Security and…"

"And?"

Magda ignored Inga's confused look.

Adrian smiled secretively, "And apparently a lot more than that, if the gossip is anything to go by."

"Adrian, do you have the projected figures for Sub-Saharan Africa?" Inga interrupted, thrusting her hand out.

He handed them over, "He's usually always with the queen," he simply continued, ignorant to Inga's attempts to distract him, "But not today. Just odd. Lots of gossip and conjecture about them in the press. I follow a blog about them."

"There's a blog?"

Magda was genuinely dumbfounded.

"Uhu," he grinned, "I'll give you the add-"

She held up a hand, "No, thanks. You're alright."

He smiled, "Well I'd be all for it. She deserves some happiness, I say. I mean, it's no rumour that her husband couldn't keep it in his pant-"

"Have you ever considered that these are actual, real people?"

He startled and looked up from the document he'd been reading.

"Yes Magda," he answered, "I have."

"And yet you talk about them like they're not-"

"Guys," Inga interrupted, "Look at the screen."

The princess was dashing down the aisle, right past her brother, and then the T.V. cut to still images of the Genovian Tourism logo with admittedly stunning images of the millionaire's playground.

Adrian moved out of his chair and was almost nose to nose with the television, "What the hell?"

They all stood watching until the transmission kicked in again. And Magda was happy to see Amelia walk down the aisle herself this time. Granted she'd only met the girl once but she didn't strike her as the type who'd enjoyed an arranged marriage.

It was a real victory for feminism everywhere when one of the oldest nations in Europe voted to scrap a totally misogynistic law. Adrian was inches away form the T.V., a stupid grin on his face.

Inga nudged her, "You alright?"

She smiled, "'Course. Just, you know…it's stupid that I got so defensive."

There was a lull in the proceedings on T.V. and then the queen, not wearing a mic, seemed to move to speak to her brother.

"Is it true?"

Inga asked but Magda didn't have time to answer.

She wouldn't have believed if it hadn't been playing out in front of her, or if Adrian hadn't let out a squeal of delight as Magda's oldest brother took up the queen's hand in his own.

She blinked once, twice and the image was still there. The image of them walking down the aisle, of his calm smile, of her radiant one.

Then she watched her brother get married, in front of a huge international audience, to the queen in whose Japanese room she'd once slept.

"No way! No way!"

Adrian kept whispering it, making it harder for her to hear the vows.

"Shhh," she scolded, "I can't hear."

"What does it matter-"

"Shhhhh!"

As she hissed this her phone started to ring, vibrating its way across the table.

'Rita' showed up on the screen. She pressed the decline button. Two seconds later it rang again.

"You should answer that," Inga warned, "You know what she'll-"

"You told me to 'Shhhhh'?" Adrian grumbled, "Look, they're kissing!"

She felt faint.

"Answer your phone," Inga insisted.

As she did so, the phone was still inches away from her ear when her sister screamed, "He just married her!"

"I know Rita," she muttered, "Can we discuss this later?"

There was a silence that was full of anger, then her sister whispered; "You knew."

"No," she muttered feebly, "I didn't."

"Yes you did," Rita accused, "I can tell from the way you're not saying anything. Plus he tells you everything."

"That's ridiculous," Magda said but she knew her sister was right.

"He's our brother and you didn't-"

"Keep your voice down!"

But it was too late, Adrian already knew and was giving her a look somewhere between astonished admiration and brutal jealousy.

"I have to go Rita, I'll phone you later."

"I will kill-"

But she hung up before she heard just who her sister planned to kill.

"Your brother?"

"Oh boy," Inga breathed.

"Uhu," Magda answered, "Yep. Oldest brother."

"And you never said?"

He seemed more bruised by the fact than he should be.

"No, because…" Magda shrugged, "Because you blog about him, apparently."

Adrian shrugged, "I suppose so. Still though…does this mean you get to go to the party?"

She pointed at her brother, emerging from the church, "I don't know. I don't get the impression this was planned, do you?"

Adrian shrugged, clearly dejected, "I suppose not. Listen, I really got to go…"

She nodded, "Got to blog?"

He was already scooping up his coat.

"Yep."

"Adrian I –"

He turned, "The fact that you lied to me will be forgiven because the queen just got MARRIED! Married! I'll hate on you for this later, okay?"

Inga sidled towards her, "You okay?"

"Yes," she smiled at her friend, "You should go too."

"Are you sure?"

She waved her hand, "I promise."

As she watched Inga go, her phone vibrated across the table again.

This time - a text message, from Joe.

 _'It only took us 34 years, 10 months, and 17 days. Should I tell Rita now?'_

Her fingers made light work of her reply.

 _'Oh she already knows.'_

His rejoinder buzzed through a second later.

 _'Think you could make it across the border for the party? My wife asked, not me. She says you can have your room.'_

She smiled, flicked off the T.V. and picked up her coat.

* * *

So total fluff. What did you think of the final installment?


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